


Mount

by LelithSugar



Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Dildos, Explicit Sexual Content, Hands Free Masturbation, Hands Free Orgasm, M/M, Male Solo, Masturbation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn, Prostate Massage, Sex Toys, Shameless Smut, Smut, lockdown cockdown
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-09
Updated: 2020-07-09
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:53:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25172683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LelithSugar/pseuds/LelithSugar
Summary: Harry's away, and Eggsy doesn't mind putting a bit of effort in for something that hits just the right spot.Self love counts as self care, right?
Relationships: Harry Hart | Galahad/Gary "Eggsy" Unwin
Comments: 33
Kudos: 179





	Mount

**Author's Note:**

> Consider this a grappling hook thrown from the depths of creative ennui. It's nothing like it was supposed to be and may be subject to a rework one day, but the world needs some Eggsy smut this gloomy Thursday evening and my other projects will get the more breathing space for this having made it out, so please enjoy.
> 
> Inspired, like so much of my work, by some incredible art by @kingsman_hell . Eternal thanks. You may be able to find it here [ If Privatter works for you ](https://privatter.net/i/4868163) but if not give Star a follow on twitter for all the goods. Thank me later.

Mount

It turns out there is a limit to how much  _ Call of Duty: WWII Nazi Zombies _ you can enjoy and Eggsy hits it, big time, on his fifth day of R&R.

He can’t go out, can’t see friends or his mum because he’s got the sort of obvious mission bruises he can’t be arsed to cook up a decent story for, so he’s stuck on his tod. He’s had a shower and a wank, worked out, done the laundry, exploded a large proportion of the undead Third Reich with a shotgun, finished his second Bernard Cornwell and has cycled back round to the wank, apparently, because Eggsy finds his hand down the waist of his joggers gently fondling his dick before he's even aware he's thought about it. 

It’s not like he’s overwhelmed with other options and okay, maybe that’s a little higher up the to-do list than it ordinarily would be. He’s been horny as all hell since he got home.

Everyone seems to know all about the thrill that comes with the  _ fight or flight _ response, the adrenaline rush and lowered inhibitions, but there’s less general awareness of the post-escapade  _ I made it, yes, I’m awesome, who wants to fuck?!  _ instinct which for Eggsy at least is way more prominent. The fidgety sort of high, this almost itchy sense of pride, your body all convinced you've earned the right to continue your species and no amount of knowing that you've got no intention, or that you're banging another bloke seems to make any difference to the hormones.

Chance would be a fine thing. Eggsy's banging his own hand or nothing, because Harry is on the other side of the world sorting out actual Nazis - not zombie ones, presumably, but you never fucking know these days - and not having him around to work through the rush with sucks most of the fun out of this phase. Mostly, though there's a definite upside to there being no need for seduction, or privacy, or to wait for someone else to be ready and on board or wondering what the fuck's got into you, trying to get into their pants yet again when they only  _ put them on ten minutes ago Eggsy you randy little shit _ : Eggsy’s only got his own pants to worry about; he's got the house to himself full time and the luxury of that is that he can toss himself off whenever the fancy takes him. And as it happens, the fancy has been taking him about three times a day.

So naturally, he's getting bored with that, too. The hand down the boxers, think-how-to-welcome-Harry-home standard had been good for the first couple, when he was tense and full and needed the release, it came with virtually no effort at all. He’s also made the most of being able to watch porn on the actual telly, and enjoyed leaving a nice little breadcrumb trail of 'recently viewed' for Harry to stumble upon next time he logs on. But whether it’s loneliness or plain boredom, it’s around about now he starts craving something a bit more involving, a bit more satisfying than a quick tug. 

It’s unusual, in a way: without anybody else to consider, the fastest and most direct route to an orgasm is usually the one he’d go for but the overlaid indulgence of free time and simmering arousal make him feel like… treating himself, a bit, or something. Self love counts as self care, right? Okay, it ain't facemasks and eating fruit salad in a candle lit bath but this is Eggsy listening to what his body wants. Which is, apparently and unsurprisingly, an actual proper shag.

Eggsy kicks the door to shut JB in the kitchen - he’s been walked, he’s got food, ain’t nothing about to be going on that needs his squished up sandwich crust face shoved in it - and flops back onto the sofa. Resists the urge to ask Alexa to play him some smooth jazz, or to patch in and see what Harry’s up to because he might still be mission-active and fascists really kill Eggsy’s boner, funnily enough. His own company will do.

He sighs a slow breath and stretches his fingers out. Is this really where he's at?

Touching himself without getting straight down to business feels a bit ridiculous, at first: he doesn’t normally stop to tease at the rest of his body unless he’s putting on a show. It's just like trying to tickle yourself, ain't it? So he's surprised when brushing over his nipple a few times makes it harden up just like it would for someone else's hand, and triggers out those same little courses of excitement.  It makes him feel like he’s doing something he shouldn’t be too, weirdly, more than going right for his dick would; tucking his hand up his shirt to have a proper feel makes Eggsy look up to double check the blinds are drawn; when he pinches, it makes that same bolt go right to his balls. 

Perhaps it’s because he doesn’t do it this way often, he’s used to these sort of extra sensations meaning there’s more on the cards than a wank? The brush of fingertips up the stripe below his navel he hasn’t even bothered trimming makes sharp thrills skitter out, heat starting to throb through him, making his muscles loose and his brain heavy like he’s had a few good drinks and opening up that melty, tingly sort of arousal that makes him want to be fucked, which is a shame and not all at once. 

Eggsy lets his head tip back onto the sofa cushions and his knees fall into an easy spread. His hands play semi-aimlessly over his front, making an effort to draw it out, rather than going route one and being done in ten minutes and half horny again twenty after that. Harry would make him work for it; edge him a bit, probably, or just wear him out and teasing is the part of that he’s sort of trying to echo here, the scrape of a thumbnail in a line from throat to hipbone making him twitch, and it’s almost too effective because he does respond as though someone's got their hands on him, and now he just badly wants the one thing he isn’t going to get.

It’s a lovely promise for his body to latch on to, though, and he dips a finger back behind his balls. It's too dry to do anything but rub a gentle circling pressure against his hole but the hot surge of excitement up his core says it all, and the quick flexing response of his body makes him try, stupidly. Just the tip of his finger. He needs lube, and way more than that. Harry, ideally; anybody, really, if it’s just fantasy, whatever random delivery driver could be lured in for a no-strings bang because what Eggsy could truly do with is someone to pick up where his hands leave off, right now, bend him over the back of the sofa and rail him into the middle of next week. It’s rare that he gets this particular urge quite so strongly and he’s not a massive fan of its timing, to be honest, getting him  _ this  _ horny for something he can’t have...

Eyes snapping open in a momentary bolt of sense, Eggsy has three realisations in quick succession: that he, Eggsy Unwin, is not in fact the first person in the history of the world to fancy the sensation of being fucked but lack the necessary; that someone invented toys, would you believe it, for that specific purpose; and that they have  _ a fucking drawer full of them upstairs.  _ And Eggsy’s up there and in that drawer like a rat up a drainpipe. Like the flame up the fuse of TNT, kicking out of his trousers and trotting up the stairs to their bedroom bare-arsed in his t shirt, like Winnie the fucking Pooh with an indiscriminately raging hard on.

Alright, so the drawer under the bed isn’t full of fake dick specifically: they’ve knocked together a pretty comprehensive collection of peripheral stuff like cuffs and clamps and little vibrating things but he's not interested in any of that. The ones he’s interested in are all tidily tucked in individual pouches so he can play Goldilocks with them by feel, just the promising hard-but-giving shape of a cock through the fabric without having to look at a pile of dildos and wonder what the fuck's become of your evening. No, Not that one. Not that one either. Weird Shape. Too squidgy. Too big - what the fuck, Harry, honestly? Too small… and the certainty that their basic plugs and things are too small for how he feels right now sends the good kind of shiver down Eggsy’s back. He knows what he wants, what he needs, and he feels… sort of  _ wanton _ and sexy in a way it’s probably a bit weird to feel by yourself but he ain't knocking it. 

He finds the one he’s after by the feel. It’s easy to recongise when he slips it out of the bag because it’s fucking glittery seafoam green, and he’s pretty sure it glows in the dark as well and that’s going to be exactly why they’ve got it. Harry’s a magpie for sex toys in anything other then the old standard pink, black or purple and Eggsy has to admit it’s kind of pretty as well as being just right size wise: not freakishly big, the generous end of real cock size but a bit longer, to give him room to work; the rubber decently flexible yet firm.

But the reason he was looking for it is none of those: it’s the suction cup molded into the base. 

He's only ever had it in his mouth, mounted to the wooden headboard in the spare room whilst Harry fucked him from behind, blindfolded for the plausibly authentic spitroasting experience they'd been after that day - whatever, yeah? It was hot as hell at the time - and it's exactly what he needs. Fuck, it's been a long time since Eggsy's used any toy totally solo and now that he's committed to it even the thought is riling him up, and Eggsy peels the cap wrapper off a new bottle of lube with his teeth, surveying his options. 

The spare room, on reflection, must have been chosen for the wooden bedstead, because that works with the suction mount and there's nowhere to stick it, in their bedroom. Well. Eggsy knows exactly where he's about to stick it, but as far as actually mounting it to something it concerned…

He tries, a couple of times, and it seals to the wall promisingly for a moment before slurping off and landing with a wobbling bounce on the carpet. The shower is an option if he wants to stand, or wanted to squat on it and ride, but that all sounds like a lot of effort and what Eggsy really wants is to be on his back with his feet round his ears. But then he'd have to use his hands - fuck himself with it manually - and something just feels like that will rip him out of the fantasy, spoil it a bit. 

To the spare bedroom it is, then. It’d probably be rude to get as fucked as Eggsy wants to in their bed without Harry present anyway.

Eggsy leaves his shirt behind and carries his weapons of choice bollock naked down the landing.  The spare bed is fully made, the headboard polished to a shine and Eggsy has never been aroused by a piece of furniture before - actually it's entirely possible that he has, long story, not for the same reason - but the sight of it, knowing what it's about to help him do, is thrilling in a strangely satisfying way.  Truly, he has been by himself too long. 

Eggsy kneels up on the bed, and licks his dry lips. A quick montage of fucking machines appears - unbidden - in his head, and makes his cock twitch. They do tend to be one of his more common porn rabbit-holes but he’s never settled on whether the appeal is watching someone be so helplessly, relentlessly fucked or the idea of being on the receiving end of that. Right now he's less bothered by the pneumatic fucking than the positions that would offer him, the ability to just lie back and take it like he'd love to, or to be on his hands and knees and get absolutely pounded from behind, because about then he realises that the headboard will not work: where's he going to put his legs?

His frustration comes out as something alarmingly like a growl, and this is probably the point at which he should give it up as a bad joke, toss off and go back to the playstation, but Eggsy Unwin is a fucking international class special agent and will absolutely not be beaten by being too horny to improvise. 

Think. 

Inspiration dawns in the very centre of his mind, as though implanted there and sleeping awaiting a trigger, a nebulous idea that without words still somehow manages to be in Harry's voice: in the absence of satisfactory furniture, they usually end up on the floor. 

His face burns even hotter, his cock throbbing. Honestly, for a man of an age when normal people start worrying about their joints, Christ, has Harry fucked Eggsy on enough floors. The best: in a safe house, to spare their colleagues the grating creak of the ancient box springs when waiting any longer was absolutely not an option. Once, because it was the one place out of line of a security camera. Just because they rolled off the bed at too good a point to stop. The day they got their new bed, between the recycling guys picking their old one up at eleven and the replacement being delivered at half twelve, purely because there was a bed shaped void in the bedroom and it seemed like the thing to do, for some reason. Whatever: function over form, the floor is usually a pretty solid option. 

And here, at the end of the bed, the footboard is the same wood as the headboard, but crucially with the gap for him to be able to scooch his legs back under the bed. Fucking genius. A little debasing, granted, but Eggsy has not come this far not to get what he wants, and it's not like anyone can see. Everyone suddenly wonders if they're on _the Truman Show_ when they're doing something embarrassing, and they don’t live with the knowledge their house can be tapped into at any point, but Merlin is busy handling Harry and if he happened to have been checking in he'd have had something to say about the amount Eggsy’s been handling himself long before he started raiding the props department. And Eggsy would stare down anyone who questioned his sex choices with pride, and he'd do this if Harry asked any time; getting self conscious _because_ nobody is watching him suddenly seems even sillier than the glittery turquoise dick-approximation grasped in his hand.

Eggsy wets his finger with spit and runs it around the cup; slams it into the footboard and hears the base stick with a satisfying thunk. 

There's nothing stopping him getting on the bed for the warm up, but fuck it, shame is right out and kneeling is sometimes easier anyway. Bent to brace himself on the bed of the bed, Eggsy slicks up two fingers and gently eases them inside himself. He isn't up for teasing anymore, now he has a goal in mind he wants results and the best thing about being in full control is he can breathe right through the strangeness that is his cool, slippery fingers quickly working to loosen him up and quickly find the good bits. More lube - lots more lube, he's learned that much - and a third finger puts pressure on his prostate even though he's not trying. He  shudders out a long breath; pleasure rolls hot through his gut and if it weren't for the massive effort on his wrist, this would be a pretty decent way to get off in itself. It doesn't always work for him, but whether it's because it's been a while or just the mood he's in... a hot flood of sparks runs down Eggsy's back, and he draws his fingers out... it's working today.

Eggsy pumps globbed palmfull of lube and thoroughly slicks the dildo with it, making sure the gel gathers up in the ridge behind the head of it, getting it really wet. It doesn't  _ not _ feel like he's trying to give it a handjob, for what that's worth, but he doesn't want any dry bits to drag at him and he really doesn't want to have to stop for more lube. It's good thick stuff though and he's dripping with it himself, thighs sliding against each other as he flips onto his knees, sets the tip against himself and shuffles back into position.

The toy pops free and slides along his arse crack, the first time, but he’s kneeling right where he wants to be so he bends it back to line up, and as it straightens the second time it sinks in: the elastic firmness of the silicone and the yield of his body meeting half way at an acceptable pace that's still a little quick for comfort.

"Ohhhh fuck." His voice is thin and dry in the silence of the house. Hoarser than he expects hut he probably hasn't used it since he finished his rendition of _You Give Love a Bad Name_ the shower. He leans forwards onto his hands and screws himself back again, slow and controlled, breath coming out as a sharp hiss.

Actually, It doesn't matter how much noise he makes, does it? Almost makes him wanna make some, just for the sake of it, really. Just because he can. 

"Mmm." He's trying it out, more than anything, but actually being vocal seems to help. Makes it more real, somehow, tunes him in to what he’s feeling and what he's feeling is nicely too-full, a painless but definitely notable stretch, a very firm pressure hitting nice and deep and if he clenches he can actually make out the ridge of the head. By shifting his hips he can put that exactly where he wants it.  "Oh yeah. Fuck. Yes."

Eggsy spends a few moments just squeezing the silicone with his muscles, feeling the weight of it inside him, that push on his prostate that makes his cock pulse. It hitches, when he tenses up and the curve of the dildo feels just right; a ball of tingling promise tightens somewhere in the middle of his hips.

He pushes forwards and rocks back, and the  _ this is too much effort  _ skeptic in his head shuts up once and for all because that feels fucking amazing. Tthe long slow slide of the toy, almost out and then back in to exactly the right spot to make pleasure swoop in his belly. He’s bloody glad there's nobody to see the face he makes, because hes pretty sure it's the same one JB does when you scratch just the right spot on the back of his neck, eyes rolling and tongue lolling out, but _fuck_ , that is fucking good. 

He gets himself in check, relaxes, and drops his head in time to see a glittering string of precome roll from the head of his dick and hit the carpet. It’s aching for attention but frankly it can jog on: Eggsy knows - from the heat in his whole groin, the fuzziness filling his body up to the brim with waiting pleasure - that he can come without touching it if he puts the work in.

And he wants to. He k nows how much Harry loves watching him come hands free. Who wouldn't? It's a beautiful, magical thing, seeing a cock spurt off untouched; watching all the other signs of orgasm round the body and waiting for it. And it feels different: like an achievement, the reward for all the hard work it took to get there, although the hardest thing about it right now is not rushing, not grabbing his cock and finishing off in two seconds flat. It's hard to bear the slower, less predictable drag up to climax but Eggsy knows he can do it, with nobody to see the faces hes pulling or hear the noises he makes; no pressure; it doesn't matter how long it takes. 

It ain’t like he’s got anything better to do, is it? 

His balance is heavy on his arms as he tips himself forward and back, relaxing and squeezing to drag the head of the toy right over his sweet spot. He swallows around the groan, the first time, and then lets himself make the noise out loud, circling and tilting his hips to figure out the absolute best it can feel.

It's like scratching an itch, when he gets it right, each thrust begging for another, dripping more hot pleasure into the spreading pool in his belly and he has to fight his own urges to get the pace right because it’s best when he keeps it firm and steady. Out and in, easy and smooth, leaning forward and then pushing back with a bit more force until he's rutting his arse almost back against the bedstead each time. It ramps up slowly, a voiceless instinct driving him to grind back even harder, to gently increase the pace until it's strenuous and intense enough to make him grunt but it's worth it, slow pleasure simmering all through his body, every second that tiny bit closer to boiling point.  


Fuck, what must he look like right now? Dripping sweat and shoving himself madly back on a fucking glittery dildo? Because he doesn’t think of Harry - or anyone else - fucking him. Doesn’t fantasise at all, really, just focuses on the sensation of being filled with each thrust, with his own control over everything except that sickly sweet anticipation in his gut that he almost wants to last forever but suddenly he’s too close, not close enough, it's delicious and painful and he just desperately wants to come. “ _Fuck_.” Eggsy pants and moans wordlessly with his mouth shut as if that’s going to make it easier to bear the heat in his face, the work he knows he still has to do. His elbows start to shake; he can feel sweat pooling in the dip between his shoulders and for a moment he doesn’t know if he can do it; if he’ll be too wrecked by pleasure before he quite gets there to pull it off.

But he grits his teeth around another growl and thinks about how proud Harry would be to see him do it. Maybe he'll tell him, later, or maybe he'll practice until he’s got it down and then put on a show. Harry is grateful for whatever wank fodder Eggsy provides him and he likes to give him plenty, likes to keep his man well satisfied even from afar and this would be a proper step up from the usual cheeky photos or shared jerk off session… Harry got off so hard watching Eggsy finger himself, the other day, probably more because he hadn’t requested it: Eggsy hadn't reached back from fondling his balls to slip a finger in because he was asked, it just felt like it would feel good, like this feels good. Smooth and firm and exactly what he needs.

A deep, steadying breath comes out almost as a cry of frustration but it’s not so much that as intent. He’s ready, now, for the final stint of effort, focused on the sparkling promise of a climax he can already feel from the back of his brain to his thighs. Eggsy pitches forward and then savours the slow, wet push as the toy spears into him again and every spreading inch as it sinks into place. He starts to push back on it again, with the tilt to his hips on the withdraw that hits just right, makes the thrust in all the sweeter; not as jackhammer quick as he thought he would want, as he usually asks for, and maybe that's the knack: cutting out the _"faster, harder"_ begging he gets carried away with and letting it happen. The way he's letting this happen, just moving his body and letting the toy fuck him into this gorgeous oblivion. He could show Harry, himself, just like this:  _ if you keep still and let me fuck myself on your cock I can make myself come  _ and he is, it’s the same dawning relief as any mission accomplished in the shimmering moment between realising you’ve made it and actual success, heat closing around him: he’s going to come all over the fucking floor.

Orgasm starts as a slow blaze crawling through his body: unbelievably intense, almost unbearable and he has to push through, roll himself right up and over the top, keep working through the weightless, agonizing, impossible crest so long it makes him scream, an actual yell through clenched teeth as he rolls over the top. He's sweating, shaking, still fucking himself back through it as come finally spurts from his cock, shooting in long stripes on the carpet before slowing to drip pulses in a pool right underneath him.

There’s very little excuse for fucking  _ yourself _ into over-sensitivity but momentum carries him and it takes a few more trembling thrusts to actually bring himself to stop, let the toy slide out and collapse into a wet heap on the floor. His throat aches from yelling, though Eggsy has no idea what noise he was making or whether there were words in it.

At least the effort is worth it: the bliss takes a good long time to dissipate and Eggsy lays there for a while just enjoying the twitches and shudders, the sense of glittering warmth like he's sunbathing but the sun is coming from under his skin. Once the rushing in his ears and the thudding in his chest has subsided a little, he rolls over, and the real world starts to filter back in.

The dildo sparkles at him somehow mockingly, looking far too harmless for what it's done to him. He can’t be bothered to move to dismount it, though, and if Harry gets home early and finds him like this - on the carpet in the spare bedroom, in a puddle of his own spunk, probably with interesting rug burn underneath a glittery dildo mounted like a hunting lodge trophy - so be it. He’s definitely got no strength in his knees to get up and deal with the mess or even get more comfortable, and when his lower half doesn’t feel any less like jelly after a minute or two Eggsy thinks  _ fuck it  _ and drags the duvet off the bed by its corner to nest around himself for a little rest whilst he lies in the unglamorous but satisfying afterglow. 

He sighs, because he'd have to get up to switch the light off if he planned on staying here for the night, which is probably a good thing because otherwise he might. 

This is a mug's game. At least when Harry fucks him silly he has the decency to clean him up and tuck him in bed after.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. Your feedback is appreciated in this distressingly dry time perhaps more than ever.
> 
> You can also find me on[twitter ](https://www.twitter.com/agentsnakebite) and [ tumblr ](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/randomactsofviolence) for Hartwin, insomnia, and unusually girthy courgettes.


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